


A Shrivel'd Heart

by Whatevergirl



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Kink Meme, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-18
Updated: 2014-10-18
Packaged: 2018-02-21 17:14:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2476031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whatevergirl/pseuds/Whatevergirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From the Kink Meme Prompt: Javert's birthday is the day before a well-known day (St Denis, Patron Saint of France and headaches), and so everyone forgets. Over the years, he has gotten used to it. However, he is shocked when Valjean remembers.<br/>(Round 8, page 6)</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Shrivel'd Heart

**Author's Note:**

> "Who would have thought my shrivel'd heart could have recover'd greennesse?"  
> George Herbert, 1633, the Flower.

Javert only knew when his birthday was due to the fact that it was the 8th of October. The following day was the feast of Saint Denis; he was the patron saint of France and headaches. His mother had often laughed at this bitterly, but she considered him a burden and had been unsure of how to love him.

A few times, he had informed those he was closest to, such as his work colleagues at Toulon, when his birthday was. He had seen them all celebrating whenever one of the guards aged another year, and although Javert was not terribly fond of raucous drinking parties, he rather hoped that maybe someone would suggest they all go for a drink together. 

It had never happened. He started working as a guard at 15 and had originally had plans to make friends. He had commented to the other guards that it was his birthday right up until the day before it, but the men had often been planning their day for the actual feast day. Every year they would invite a number of guards to come to the chapel and pray for help in their headaches before going out and enforcing their own by drinking to excess. Every year, Javert spent his birthday on his own, but it was fine.

He did not care that they did not want to spend it with him. He had his own little ritual. He would have a quiet dinner and, if he was not working, he would spend the evening outside looking at the stars and indulging in his snuff. He always had his birthday off; their captain thought he was generous in making sure men got their birthday evenings free. Javert had corrected this matter though. Up until his 22nd birthday, he had spent the evenings on his own, but then he told the captain he would rather be working than lazing around.

It was far more productive anyway.

Unfortunately, that meant the captain stopped thinking about his birthday. For the first 12 years in Toulon, the captain had been the only one to say ‘Happy Birthday’ at some point to Javert, but when he reached 27, the man either stopped remembering, or stopped caring. 

Every year following that, Javert went off by himself after his shift and sat outside, watching the stars and reminding himself that he did not care about having friends. They were a weakness that could be exploited and he was better off without. When he had been younger, he had even shed a tear or two in a shameful display of raw pain, curled up and trying desperately not to sob into his knees.

Thankfully, Javert was stronger than that now. He did not need anyone to smile at him. After all, he no longer tried to smile at others. He didn’t ask whether or not any of the men remembered his birthday, but he had a sneaking suspicion they had never noticed him.

He adapted into a competent human in many ways, though his determination to block out his feelings spilled over to more than just the hurt he may have experienced at being forgotten. He listened to convicts who cared too much and committed crimes as a response and he came to the reasonable conclusion that to feel too much was troublesome. 

So, Javert did his best to block off all his feelings. He worked his way out of the prison system and onto the streets of various backwater towns, rising through the ranks and to the attention of important men in Paris. 

When he was sent to M sur M, he was pleased. It was his first time actually running the force in a town, rather than just assisting, so he was eager to do well. He headed straight to the Mayor to introduce himself.

There was a flicker of recognition when he met the large man though. Something in the back of his mind demanding he recall the face. When the mayor denied any prior meeting, Javert supposed that he had simply seen the man in Paris, or some other town at some point. He was determined not to get caught up in the struggles of a personal life, so he did not learn people’s names unless he was introduced to them in a professional capacity.

Nearly a year after arriving, M. Madeleine ruined his idea that he went unnoticed by people. 

“Oh, and I believe it is your birthday today?” the mayor asked, raising his brow with a slight smile after Javert had finished his report.

“It is the… 8th of October. Yes, monsieur, it is.” He had forgotten. They were in the middle of tracking down a murderer and it was taking all of Javert’s attention from insignificant matters.

“How old are you now, if it is not too impolite to ask?”

“I am…” It was 1820 this year, “forty, monsieur.”

“A good age.” The mayor smiled warmly at him, and Javert resisted the urge to shift uncomfortably under his gaze. “What will you do to celebrate?”

“Celebrate?” This was far too personal. He did not want a personal life. No one had ever allowed him one before, and he didn’t want one now. “I don’t see a need to celebrate, monsieur.”

“No? I didn’t think your police let any excuse for a drink pass them by.” He chuckled, but the statement made Javert frown. His men had a reputation for drinking? This would need to be addressed.

“They don’t know it’s my birthday.”

“Why ever not?”

“They don’t need to.” It saved on disappointments. Javert didn’t need to have no one turn up to his birthday celebration to know he was unpopular. However, he did not need to be popular to do his job.

“Perhaps we can have a drink together then?” The mayor suggested, a look in his eyes that indicated he was sharing in some imagined pain with Javert.

“I planned to go back to the station and carry on working. I have various things to finish before the morning.”

“Then, you head to the station and I shall meet you there when I have finished clearing up the mess I have made.”

Javert bowed stiffly and left. He did not understand the mayor in the slightest. Why was he insisting on celebrating a birthday? It was just a day to mark he was now older and slower than he used to be, less able to keep up with the youthful delinquents that roamed the streets.

At the station, Javert set about writing out the various orders for in the morning. The noted his suspicions on who it might be that was causing such a stir in the town and numerous people to investigate when the daylight returned.

“Ready?” asked a gentle voice by the doorway.

“Yes, monsieur le mayor.” 

“Madeleine.” The man insisted as he watched Javert retrieve his hat and his coat.

“Madeleine.” Javert repeated as he tugged on his gloves. “Monsieur, how did you know it was my birthday?”

“Hm?” The mayor jumped slightly, but his face held a puzzled expression when he glanced at the inspector. 

“I have not told anyone about my birthday in a long time. How did you know?”

“I remember that it is right before the feast of St Denis… I suppose I must have seen it on a form though.”

Javert nodded as they stepped out into the chilly night air. He could not remember filling out any forms that required that information, but he was not privy to all the paperwork that moved between Paris and the mayor; perhaps the man had requested to know the age and competence of the new inspector last year before he approved the change.

Mutely, he followed the man through the streets. Neither of them tended to be particularly verbose, so the silence was a fairly comfortable one. 

In fact, Javert mused as the mayor held the door open for him, the silence of the walk could have lasted a little longer.

“I’m afraid I only have whiskey, my dear inspector.” The man looked at him, an apology expressed clearly on his features.

“Very well.” He nodded. 

“Please, take off your coat and have a seat. I’ll set the fire going.”

However, as Madeleine pottered about, finding two glasses and the whisky he wanted, Javert knelt before the fire and set about lighting the kindling. He pushed his gloves into his coat pocket, draped said coat over the back of a chair and placed his hat upon the seat. 

As he settled in a chair by the fireplace, Javert accepted a glass off the mayor. The liquor smelt strong, and tasted even worse. Javert had never tried whiskey before, but he decided that he was glad of it. Another sip left his tongue feeling strangely numb and breathing burnt his throat in a most unusual manner.

He rested the glass upon the arm of the chair, keeping his fingers wrapped around it and hoping the man wouldn’t notice if he didn’t drink anymore.

\------

Jean Valjean watched as Inspector Javert struggled to keep his head up. Apparently he was not in the habit of drinking and as such it was putting the man to sleep. His words, when he allowed them the freedom to be spoken aloud, were slurring together and his face was pulled into a strangely adorable squint. 

“Why ever did you not just celebrate with the men you work with? Surely the drink they serve in bars would have been more to your constitution.”

“No.” Javert snorted slightly and pressed a hand to his face. “I learnt years ago that I am not popular. People do not want to celebrate my birthday with me. I won’t risk deluding myself into thinking I have friends. Crimes are always committed because people have a personal life that they care too much about. Need to avoid that.”

Valjean stared sorrowfully at the man. “How lonely.” He said. 

Thinking about it though, Valjean only knew Javert’s birthday because it fell the day before the feast of St Denis. He could remember in his early years of Toulon a fresh faced guard shyly asking the others if they would celebrate this date with him. He could not remember their replies, but Javert’s attitude implied they had not agreed to spend the evening with him.

He stood up and pulled the drunken man to his feet, slipping an arm around the hard body and pulling him up the stairs. He would never forget Javert’s birthday then. Even the prisoners had celebrated their birthdays when they were aware of what date it was. It was not right that a man who had dedicated his life to being just was so left out.

“You have a friend in me.” He whispered softly as he lowered Javert to his bed and pulled his boots off. “You probably wouldn’t be able to accept it, but I would have us be friends.”

He leaned up to kiss the man’s forehead and pull the blankets over his slumbering form before heading back downstairs. 

\------

In the following years, Valjean did his very best to keep track of where Javert was. Though he insisted that it was the safest thing to know where his hunter was, he still sent the man a note every year wishing him a happy birthday. When he was in a position to do so, he would send the inspector a gift as well.

He simply hoped that the gesture was appreciated. He didn’t know what Javert, or the other officers (for it was to the police station that Valjean sent his correspondence) felt about a criminal sending letters and gifts, but he hoped they would not mind too much.

Of course, Javert was determined to be unmoved by the gifts he received. When he returned to Paris and started receiving notes for his birthday, the other men had asked him about it. He had simply said it was private.

The following year, Javert received flowers every day for the week leading up to his birthday, with an unsigned note saying it was for all the years that had been missed. Javert rather hoped it was Valjean with the foolish idea in his head, otherwise there was yet another criminal aware of his birthday and anonymously sending him gifts.

The same happened the next year, but it was chocolate he received. Javert was terribly tempted to try them out for himself, but he would not accept gifts from a criminal. He heard the men commenting that a criminal was attempting to court him though, and the chocolates were thrown out. 

The next year, Javert was both dreading and anticipating his birthday, and strange feeling that he had never experienced. He wanted to see if he was remembered again this year, terrified both that this criminal would still hold such an odd interest in him and worried that the year would go unnoticed by anyone. 

On the second of October, Javert received flowers. The next day, chocolates. Then flowers, then chocolates; flowers again and more chocolates. On the day of his actual birthday, Javert received a beautiful pocket watch. It was finely made with delicate carving on the inside, surrounded by a sturdy shell to keep it safe. 

He clung to the gift, unsure if he ought to throw it out life he usually did with the chocolates, or give it to someone else to dispose of as they saw fit, like he did with the flowers.

Perhaps… perhaps he would keep the pocket watch. He had never received a gift he actually wanted. Surely this once, it would be acceptable to keep it. 

Seven months after that, Javert received a gift out of sequence; it was a bottle of oil. The following day, he was handed a note which read ‘ _Think of me._ ’ in unfamiliar handwriting. As the men began to mock him, claiming his admirer was back, Javert was not so sure.

He took the oil and the note to the Prefect Delavau, unsure of the meaning, however it was Chief Duplessis who informed him of the significance. Javert scowled as he listened to what the oil and the note together meant.

Duplessis was very proper as he told Javert of the uses oil had between two men, and explained that if his lover was a man, they ought to keep their affair away from the prefect, who expected his subordinates to follow religious laws even more studiously than the laws of France. Javert had no hesitation in telling him this was not the same person who sent him gifts in October. Though he wouldn’t admit it aloud, Valjean’s gifts filled him with a warmth that could not be denied; these filled him with an icy fear and he was fairly certain Valjean would not be so crude.

Duplessis did not take him seriously when, wrapped in newspaper and then brown paper and string, a bloody lump of flesh was left on the steps to the station, his name written on a piece of paper that was tucked into the string. He quelled the compulsion to vomit when he realised it was a man’s penis and took it straight to the chief. 

The station burst into action as they began to plan hunts for who it was sending these repulsive gifts. As they spent days sweeping the streets and questioning people, urchins kept approaching Javert with new gifts and notes; crude drawings, explicit verses, more lumps of flesh…

Javert wore a permanent scowl as he interrogated the boys, determined to find out who it was who had taken such an interest in him. Their response was a large man, with skin so blackened they couldn’t determine its colour and a hat that shadowed his eyes.

Javert was forced to sleep in the break room, Duplessis taking exception to someone targeting one of his inspectors and becoming very protective of him. Javert found that it was strange to have someone treat him as a human being. Most of the men he worked with seemed to view him as some creature who did not need rest, or food, or protection. As Javert curled up on the cot in the break room, he found that even with the description of a large man, he did not believe this was Valjean targeting him. The man was a thief, yes; however neither in Toulon nor in M sur M had the man shown any indication that he found mutilating others to be acceptable. 

A month later and the gifts began to ease off. They had still not managed to catch the man, but Javert decided enough was enough and he was going home. He gathered up the items other officers had taken from his home and left.

His landlady had been beside herself when he returned. There had been a large man hanging around recently, and the renters were immensely uncomfortable. She insisted that everyone would feel better now that Javert had returned.

Javert himself cursed at the incompetence of the men he worked with and headed up to his room to prepare. Clearly his return to his normal life was what this large man had been waiting for. He removed his uniform and set it to one side for his landlady to wash. It had been cleaned once in all the time that he had been at the station and the idea of being so unpresentable was unpleasant. 

Pulling on his own, well-worn clothing, Javert planned out what to do. Before the daylight faded, he would send a note back to the prefecture with one of the boys that roamed the street, eager to earn a coin. He sat down and pulled out his pistols, exhausted despite the fact that he had done fewer hours patrolling and more sat behind a desk than he was used to.

Javert wrote a note out and left it to dry as he settled. Preparations made, he waited. 

As the afternoon wore on, Javert gave his note and a coin to a thin child with a rotten smell. He ate his meal in silence, nerves rising in him. 

The light faded and Javert rose. As the night approached, Javert pulled on his coat and left. He did not take his hat with him, it was a fine hat and he did not want to lose it in a struggle. 

Outside, the lanterns were lit and Javert walked smartly down towards one of the alleys. It was not unusual for men to use them, they allowed a quicker passage through the complex of buildings. Javert set off as though he was heading out to the police station, but he rapidly became aware of a presence following close behind him. 

Out of the way of others, Javert stopped.

“Did you like my gifts? I thought long and hard about how to woo you.”

“That was wooing?” Javert felt his lip curl up into a snarl as he turned around to see the face of his pursuer.

It was a face he recognised, but only in a passing sense; likely a man he had arrested at some point in time. He had no more than a moment to consider the face though, for the man came upon him like a brute and they grappled.

“I’ve been watching you.” The man hissed as he shoved the inspector into a wall. “You’re a lonely man. You need me.”

“No.” he growled in reply. He dropped down and pushed his shoulder hard into the man’s belly, unbalancing him.

Javert reached for his pistol and raised the barrel. It was no more than a second before he was on the hard ground, the man’s boot on his chest. He was faster than Javert had expected, but the officer was not out. He twisted and drew a blade from his boot. 

In the man’s leg, it did the required job of removing the obstacle and Javert was able to jump up to his feet. He glanced at the pistol, but did not lose his ground by diving for it. He watched the man, aware of his movements. His knee was throbbing painfully, from where the man had stamped upon it to put Javert on the ground; his shoulder hurt also, but he would not give in. 

Desperately hoping the prefecture had gotten his note, Javert grit his teeth and jumped back as the man swung at him again. He shuffled backwards down the alley. There was shouting nearby, but Javert didn’t dare look away. 

He had move too far though, and the man had space to rush at him again. They fell to the ground in a heap, and Javert’s clothing was torn at, the man wrestling the blade from his hand to use it against him.

“Javert? Javert?!” 

Javert had no breath with which he could reply though. Bringing a leg up, he managed to kick the man in the side, but not away. 

“Mine. You are mine!” and Javert found himself wishing Valjean was there. He remembered the gifts, the unexpected warmth he felt upon receiving them… that someone cared about him enough to remember.

He wanted to tell Valjean he cared about his birthday too. 

\------

It was years before Javert had the chance though. He continued to work, continued to receive gifts on his birthday… The policemen continued to believe that Javert received gifts leading up to St Denis’s feast, but he didn’t bother to correct them. Let them believe whatever they wanted to, Javert did not care.

It was 1831 when Javert met Valjean again, on the 8th of October. Javert had been receiving money all week. He had it collected in a box at home to give it all to the church in the morning. He had been decidedly unimpressed with the presents. He was aware his salary wasn’t the best. He was aware that his clothing was old and patched up, but he did not want any kind of charity.

On the Saturday morning, Javert set out. He had taken the day off work because he did not want to be there when Valjean sent him more money for the actual day of his birthday; instead, he was heading to the market. 

He was talking to the baker when Valjean entered the shop. Javert didn’t notice him at first, his attention taken by the young woman who stumbled into him. She apologised, blushing prettily as she corrected herself and the man behind wrapped a large hand around her shoulder.

“Are you hurt, my dear?”

“I’m fine, Papa.” She answered.

Javert raised his eyes, up from her to the handsome face of the man behind her; Jean Valjean.

“Javert!” He yelped, looking surprised to see him.

“Monsieur.” Javert replied, unsure of what name the man went by now. Madeleine still? Or had he decided it was safe to return to Valjean…

“Happy Birthday, Javert.” The man spoke the words that Javert had not heard directed at him since he had been the inspector in M sur M. 

“Thank you, monsieur.”

“Fauchelevent. That’s my name now.” Valjean whispered softly. 

“I ought to arrest you.” He said quietly.

“Come, if you have the time, we should catch up.” Valjean pulled back, and Javert followed without buying anything from the baker.

Through the streets, Javert and the girl followed Valjean in silence. They wandered through to a respectable part of the city, up through a garden and into what he assumed was Valjean’s home.

“I’m going to read my book, Papa. You and your friend catch up.” The girl said, smiling at the two men before she disappeared out the room.

Valjean smiled at Javert nervously, indicating a chair over by an unlit fire place.

“Eleven years ago, we first sat down like this.” He said softly. “I won’t give you whiskey this time.”

Javert smiled silently, unsure of what to say. He ought to arrest the man, but he found he genuinely didn’t want to. He pressed his hand over the cloth that covered the pocket watch he still wore; apparently Valjean had very effectively bribed him for his freedom.

He opened his mouth, wanting to object to the man’s tactics. He wanted to ask why the man had so insistently sent him gifts. He shut his mouth though, unable to make his voice work.

“We used to have tea, didn’t we? I could make some.”

“No. Thank you.” He said shortly. His limbs shook slightly, uncertainty filling them with a movement he couldn’t banish. “Why?”

“Why? Why what?” Valjean stared at him, his gentle eyes now piercing down to his very core, to his own, questionable soul. “Why did I break parole? Because I had no way to make up for what I did being treated as a monster, because I had to find a path other than the one presented to me. Why did I lie and become a mayor? Simply to help the town. I held no ill will for the people there. Why did I go to Arras and reveal myself? It was a difficult choice, but how could I allow another to suffer for what I had done.”

“No.” Javert said, his voice cracking. “Why did you always remember?”

“Your birthday? Everyone deserves to have their birthday remembered. You told me you had no friends, so when I left I was worried it would go forgotten.”

“And yours?”

“I celebrate with Cosette. She refused to let me forget my birthday.”

“Cosette?”

“My daughter. The girl who was with me? She was Fantine’s daughter.”

“Ah.” He curled his fingers together and kept his eyes down. “When is your birthday?”

“In the winter. Early January.”

“Thank you.” Javert said. He wished he had asked for tea. He felt awkward. “May I have a drink?”

“I’m afraid that if I am not making tea, there is only whiskey.” Laughed Valjean, his eyes brimming over with his happiness.

“Perhaps I will find it more palatable now.” He said, a smile twitching at his lips. 

“Indeed.” 

Valjean gave him a glass of the amber liquid, settling down in a comfortable chair with his own. The drink still burnt, a strange feeling as it slid down his neck. 

Again, he drank too much. For such a strong drink, it went down more quickly than he had expected.

\------

Valjean watched with a grin as he watched Javert slump in his chair. They had not spoken as they had drank, but it had allowed Valjean a chance to look the younger man over. His hair was greying, and his eyes were tired. 

He was not as slim as he had once been, but he was still attractive. 

“Do you have friends?” Valjean asked, softly. He was no sure if he wanted the answer to be yes or no. he disliked the idea of anyone else being close to Javert, yet he did not want the man to be as lonely as he had once been.

“I don’t know.” The man said. “The men I work with don’t all dislike me. They find me strict… but, the men I trained in particular are determined to claim I have a sense of humour.”

“It’s dry,” chuckled Valjean, “but it is there.”

Javert stood up and stumbled the few steps over to him. 

“Why do you care about me?” those blue eyes focussed on him, Javert was blinking heavily but his gaze was determined. “No one ever liked me before you. Not even when I was younger and actually wanted to be noticed fondly by others.”

“I doubt that anyone could have resisted you when you were younger.” Valjean couldn’t remember exactly what Javert had looked like at Toulon, but he remembered thinking of him as the most beautiful thing in the walls.

“No. I learnt young that there are two positions one can hold outside society. You can either work for the law, or against it.”

“That is all?” Valjean had never thought of the police as outside of society. 

“That is all. If I am not one, then I am the other. I ought to arrest you.” The look of anguish Javert gave him at this could only have been released by the alcohol. Javert usually had a far better grip of his emotions.

“Everyone believes Jean Valjean to be dead. You do not need to do anything.”

“Surely I am rejecting my duty? How am I better than those who are bribed when I ignore lawbreakers due to a fondness for them?”

“You have a fondness for me?” Valjean fought his grin down. Javert looked as though he was truly struggling with this.

“Were you bribing me? Is that was these gifts were?” The man’s eyes were pained as they looked at him. Valjean worried for a moment he saw them glisten, but it passed and he could see no tears.

“No. They were gifts. I knew you for years in M sur M, we were friends. I gave you gifts because you deserve some appreciation. I consider you too just to accept bribes.”

“You gifted me… because I am good at my job?”

“Because I like you. Your job is part of who you are, but it not your entirety.”

“No. My professional life is me. I have worked hard to have no personal life.”

“No. You are more than just your job.” Valjean sat on the floor beside the man, wincing slightly as his body refused to accept the position as easily as it once had.

“I didn’t realise I had a fondness for you until about four years ago. A man sent me… crude gifts because he believed I should be his. He fought me, he wanted to… have me, and you were all I could think of.”

Valjean reached an arm out and wrapped it around Javert. The inspector gripped his fingers for a moment before staggering to his feet.

“Let’s not sit on the floor. We are not young men anymore.”

“Javert.” Valjean said quietly, reaching out once he was standing to hold both of the inspector’s hands. “You are worth a hundred gifts… but if they do not come with the right intention, I pray you do not accept them.”

He wondered what the crude gifts had been, but instead of asking, he stepped forwards to press a kiss to Javert’s lips. The man’s eyes widened in surprise, but a shy smile graced his face, twitching slightly as though the muscles were unused to the expression.

“I’ll just have to shower you with gifts from now on.”

Javert frowned, but gripped Valjean’s fingers as he led him to a bed. He would head down to make dinner for the three of them later, but apparently Javert still didn’t drink well and needed to sleep the inebriation off.

He would make Javert realise that he was alone no longer.


End file.
